


M.I.A.

by FujinoLover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deception was their brand new kind of caring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M.I.A.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delfries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delfries/gifts).



> Happy birthday. Thank you for being my sounding board, especially with this ship.

 

After a week being coped up in the subway, doing and contributing nothing to the new number they received, Shaw was on the last straw. She brooded all the time. Harassing Harold, threatening John whenever he was around, and throwing snarky remark when Root showed up (she at least had the decency to appear guilty and did not flirt or tease her). None worked. They were set on keeping her safe, even though boredom might kill her first.

 

The subway was currently empty. John was tied up with Fusco in the police precinct, leaving Root and Harold to protect the number, this one Samaritan was determined to eliminate. Sooner or later they would be overwhelmed; Shaw did not have to be a supercomputer to predict the outcome. Three hardheaded people combined had overridden her one, but this situation required all hands on deck. They needed _her_ and they damn well knew that.

 

Shaw wondered how Root could stay in the Faraday cage back then and worse, getting locked up again on her own decision. She admired her for that, because she would have fled—in fact, she was in the process of breaking out. She had enough. She was going out of this hell hole, regardless of the scolding she would have to endure, later, after she saved their asses.

 

Harold should have known that a shoddy padlock would not stop her. For a second, she almost felt insulted. _Almost_. Her fingers being zapped the moment they touched the metal door had changed her mind. Once the surprise faded out, a smirk took over her features. About fifteen minutes to alter the electricity and pick the lock, then another five to jam the silent alarm so it would not set off when she pulled the door open. Then she was a free woman, armed with guns and shadow map on her phone.

 

It was suicide mission, Shaw knew. Amongst the few wishes she ever had, dying in the glory of battle was definitely one of them. Her number was of expendable value. She did not talk about it (she never would), but it was an understanding she wordlessly shared with John, as they were the active aggressors in this war. They were _expected_ to die in it.

 

* * *

 

“Shaw?” Root’s alarmed voice rose above the gunshots around.

 

Of course she would be the first one to notice Shaw from across the room, although the latter did not bother to hide and open fire the moment she showed up. John’s head perked up from behind another crate farther from the one Root was hiding behind; he had the number with him. Together, the three of them had Samaritan’s agents trapped, yet still, they were outnumbered.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

It was obviously a rhetorical question. Shaw could pick the worry in Root’s voice like blood in water, thick and drawing her in. She hated this new unspoken thing they had going on. It impaired her decision making more than she would like it to be.

 

“Helping,” Shaw shouted back as she took out an operative with well-placed bullet to the shoulder. “You can thank me later.”

 

Root cried out in frustration, “You’re not supposed to be here!”

 

“Too late for that.”

 

“You—“

 

“Pester her later,” John cut off whatever Root was going to say, Harold had informed him (and actually, Root, too) about more Samaritan’s assets en route. “We have to get out.”

 

After a week of being dormant, it felt nice to be out. Shooting people had adrenaline running high through her system again, Shaw was ready for anything. Being the only one whom did not have to hide from Samaritan’s agents and did not connect to Harold (thus not knowing what exactly he was planning to get them out), she chose to use herself as bait to lure the incoming backups to the east area of the building when she watched John and Root darting onto the opposite direction.

 

“Shaw!”

 

“Go!”

 

Their eyes met for a brief second—Root’s was full of concern, she was ready to cross the room and dragged Shaw out with her without regard of the bullets aiming at them, while Shaw’s was of determination. Recognizing the thought going inside Root’s mind, Shaw nodded at her sharply. It was an unsaid promise to get out alive then gather back in the subway. Root looked troubled as she reluctantly disappeared through the door, bringing up the rear whilst covering the number from behind with John taking the front.

 

Only four agents remained standing and they were after the leaving group—Samaritan had decided so. With their attention diverted, they made it easy for Shaw to incapacitate them. She snatched guns from the fallen operatives before making her way to the front side of the building, ready to run an interference of her own. Unlike Root, she was not going to sacrifice herself. She was only going to provide a warm welcome and crash the party, stalling them long enough for herself to flight.

 

However, Shaw was surprised when what she thought to be backups, arrived. Fortunately (or not), they were not from Decima. The blonde woman was taken aback when they came face to face. The man, Indigo-Seven-Alpha, Shaw’s successor, was displeased. She grinned faintly. He had let her escape once; she would not be so lucky this time. Even if he did, his partner was more like her in the loyal, no-questioning-an-order kind of way. She would not allow her to simply walk out.

 

“Told you, she got out alive,” the man chirped at his partner.

 

The woman’s look hardened. It was difficult concept to kill one of ISA’s legends, let alone one who was also her teacher. “Not for long,” she affirmed, more for her own sake than anyone else’s.

 

“Sorry, Shaw.” The man pointed his gun at Shaw, his hand steady and she oddly felt proud of him. “Boss’ order.” Then he shot her without a second of hesitation

 

Shaw stared down at her chest in slight disbelief, before her eyes rolled back and she slumped forward.

 

* * *

 

One moment she thought her heart had ceased to a stop. Next she was revived on the back of a van, gasping for air as she jolted up, black body bag covering most of her lower half. _Again_. Nausea settled in her stomach, but she was quick to take in her surroundings. She was in one piece, unharmed beside the stinging sensation on her chest, where her apprentice had shot her with a tranquilizer dart. Aside from the empty front seats and the cell phone on the dashboard, nothing seemed to be out of place.

 

Shaw ripped the zipper further then rolled out of the bag, almost as if it had personally offended her, when a nearby explosion shook the van and grabbed her attention.

 

Crawling on all fours—as her body had not yet caught up with its normal functions—she came up to the rear windows, only to see flame engulf the building she had just vacated from. Ruffled operatives, which Martine happened to be one of them, stumbled out before another explosion set off. The building shook, swayed to one side, then toppled over into a massive pile of bricks, woods, and whatnot. Some area continued to burn after the blast of dust had cleared up.

 

Shaw watched on, slightly horrified by the turn of event (and a little disappointed that Martine had not been inside when it happened). She checked on her person for any gun, but found none. Meanwhile, Martine and her associates had left; their car sped up and passed the one she was trapped in. Assured that she was no longer in imminent danger, Shaw tried to pry open the backdoor of the van. It was locked from outside. She crawled back then hopped onto the driver seat, thankful to find keys on the ignition.

 

Her concentration had diverted yet again as a familiar town car zoomed in and skidded to a halt in front of what five minutes ago used to be an abandoned office building. Shaw was relieved to see all three of her friends coming back for her. Now if only she could open this damned door and joined them. She succeeded in doing so, right when the phone rang. Unknown caller flashed on its screen was giving ominous sensation in her gut.

 

As much as Shaw would love to ignore the call, she was also curious as to why the ISA did not kill her and, if what her apprentice told her was true, why Control specified him to do so. Her friends could wait—they deserved the suspense anyway, and Root, in particular, for misleading then drugging her—she wanted her answers first.

 

“Who is this?”

 

_“Miss Shaw?”_

 

“Harold?” Shaw questioned back, eyebrow cocked up. Looking at the side view mirror, she could see him and he was definitely not talking, too distraught by the collapsed building to do so.

 

_“No.”_

 

If she was puzzled before, she became straight out guarded then. Because there was no way Carter could have answered her. There was only one being, which she knew of, that used this kind of approach. This was too far in Root’s comfort zone. Shaw was not going to hold a conversation with The Machine. Not now, not ever.

 

_“I will protect you,”_ it was in John’s voice, followed by Cole’s, _“You must leave, please.”_

 

The nausea intensified. “I don’t need protection and I’m not leavin’,” she barked back.

 

Firefighters and police cruisers raced on the street. Their blue and red lights blinding and loud sirens deafening. Shaw paid no attention to them, but she watched from the mirror as John discarded his suit and went to the site himself. No doubt, he was searching for her. Or her body. Harold was fixated on his spot, he did not move even after an officer urged him to. Root was... Shaw could not bear to watch.

 

_“I need you,”_ it was Root’s, _“Trust me.”_

 

It felt like a punch to Shaw’s stomach, stealing her breath away painfully. As much as she hated it, The Machine was right. Whatever She had planned was carefully calculated, free of human’s emotional influence, and every step was taken with one goal in consideration—saving Shaw.

 

If she stayed, she would be a dead weight. Samaritan would either eliminate her or use her to find the rest of the team. It was either she died or severed her connection with them. The old lone wolf Shaw would take the first option at any day, she was not afraid of dying. She still did. However, the new Shaw—the one who chose to face this battle they were losing because there were things she cared about and because there were people who cared for her—took the second one.

 

Faking death once was hard to do. It enraged her because her own employer was the one trying to get rid of her. Faking death for the second time around—although it was for the sake of everyone’s and her own safety—was harder, even more because it was meant not only for the enemy’s eyes but also for her own teammates’.

 

Shaw could not make out Root’s expression from the distance and she did not want to, either. Twisting the key, the car instantly purred into life and she drove away without glancing back. For once, she put her whole belief in The Machine, both for her and the rest of the team, and above all, for Root. Shaw regretted that she did not get to say goodbye, but she believed one day, when this war was over, they would meet again.

 

* * *

 

In spite of its rather empty condition, the van was equipped with a GPS. The Machine had severed connection after it succeeded in persuading Shaw, but left her with directions to where she was required to be. She walked up to one of the government facilities she had been at roughly a year before. Everything looked and felt the same. The secretary was new, she did not recognize her, but apparently, her presence had been expected. Unlike before, she was led to the top floor instead of going on her own to the basement where they held suspects for questioning.

 

Shaw nodded at the lone woman seated behind the oak desk, body stiffened in perfect stance. “Ma’am.”

 

“Welcome back.” Control smiled, finally satisfied with Hersh’s replacement. “Agent Shaw.”

 

Root and The Machine were right. It was never about winning, but surviving. The only way to disappear was to appear and no cover could have been better to deceive Samaritan than Indigo-Five-Alpha being reinstated as ISA’s operative after doing a prolonged undercover mission.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It has nothing to do with this shot at all, but here goes: every once in a while, I basically go batshit with what I write. If an idea is fun or intriguing, I’ll see it through, without caring about anything outside the idea itself. Please take a moment to reconsider before reading my stories. Thank you.


End file.
